


Flagstaff

by firefly124



Series: Femslash February 2016 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, spnfemslashbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was hot and then there was <i>hot</i>.  Today?  Hot.  The Mysterious British Chick in booth three?  <i>Hot.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Flagstaff

It was hot. 

Okay, maybe that didn’t quite cover it. It was so hot that the air conditioning in the diner was working overtime and you still had sweat pouring along your skin like a series of rivers. It might be a “dry heat,” but it was still hot enough that the cook probably hadn’t needed to turn on the grill to make burgers today.

That was approximately how hot the chick in booth three was. You weren’t sure what was going on over there. Neither she nor the guy with the beard and the baseball cap wanted more than coffee. They didn’t look related, though that didn’t always mean much. Coworkers of some kind maybe, considering the way they were bent over their coffee talking, like someone might be planning to eavesdrop on their corporate secrets or something. 

Or maybe you were just that bored and possibly on the verge of heatstroke.

She looked up, catching you, and lifted her mug. You smiled and grabbed the coffee pot, swiftly refilling both of their mugs.

“You read my mind,” she said in that British accent that you could listen to all day.

“Waitress instinct,” you replied with a shrug. 

She hummed against the rim of her mug, her eyes saying that she was absolutely sure that was not why you’d been looking at her.

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Nah, we’re good,” Baseball Cap said.

With a nod, you went back behind the counter, setting the coffee pot back on the burner and deciding to restock the coffee supplies. They didn’t need it, but none of your other customers needed anything, and you didn’t want to be caught staring again.

When you came back from the storeroom, Baseball Cap had left and Mysterious British Chick was still there. She had some sort of necklace draped over her hand that she was examining thoughtfully. You forced yourself to focus on organizing the packets of Folgers and Sanka, stacking the coffee filters just so, and topping off the tea bags. 

You turned back around when you heard Mysterious British Chick clear her throat. She was standing by the register, even though the money for their coffees had been sitting on the table before. With a smile, you rang her up and made change for her.

“Keep it,” she said. “And this.”

You took the business card from her that stated she was an antiques dealer. You raised your eyebrows in question.

“My personal number’s on the back,” she added, “in case you wanted to maybe do more than window shop.”

You resisted the urge to look over your shoulder and make none of your other customers caught that. It might pass for subtle in London or wherever she was from, but not so much here. Looking around would seal it, though.

“Thanks,” you said with a smile as you tucked the card in your pocket.

“Anytime.” She winked at you before walking out the door.

Quitting time couldn’t come soon enough.


End file.
